The Ice Cream Parlor
by Fantasywriter14
Summary: Sylar and Elle chat in an ice cream parlor. Sylar & Elle. Short Story.


THE ICE CREAM PARLOR – SYLAR STYLE

Going to an ice cream parlor wasn't exactly Sylar's idea of "fun", but he had to go along with it. Elle had always enjoyed being in charge; he just agreed with her most of the time. What was the point in arguing? Elle won him over easily by batting her lashes and giving him her cutest smile. Sylar couldn't top that. A veiled threat wasn't going to get him anywhere in this situation. Besides, eating an ice cream cone couldn't be _that_ bad. It might actually prove to be a distraction. Maybe, while licking his ice cream, Sylar wouldn't have the urge to kill people. It was worth a try.

"Moo Moo's?" Sylar tilted his head, peering up at the sign above the door to the ice cream parlor. "What a great name," he added sarcastically. "Very original."

Elle cast him a rather dirty look, folding her arms over her chest in a commanding sort of way. She had a habit of doing that when Sylar got on her nerves. "I used to come here all the time when I was little, so don't bad mouth Moo Moo's. Besides, their German Chocolate is really good, and I'm hungry."

"Really?" he questioned with a side-long glance and a grin. "I always preferred Braum's."

Elle rolled her eyes and let her hands fall to her sides, stepping forward to open the door. A fancy little _ding _sounded when the two entered, and a few customers shot them bored looks, but other than that they went pretty much unnoticed. Sylar really liked Elle's idea of "blending in and being normal" for the time being. She always came up with brilliant ideas, whether or not he liked to admit it.

Elle sat down at a small table near the counter, with Sylar trailing behind and taking a seat across from her. The previous serial-killer immediately set about twiddling his thumbs while waiting for the waiter to come and take their order. Across from him, Elle studied Sylar with an amused, almost comical expression upon her face. After a good three minutes or so, she broke the awkward silence.

"You do know you have to walk up to the counter and buy the ice cream, right?"

Sylar raised an eyebrow, his mouth going slightly agape. "No, I _didn't_ know that. You could have told me earlier." Sighing, he stood from his chair, putting his hands on the table and leaning over it to look her in the eyes. "You know, you're really beginning to irritate me."

"I know!" Elle piped with a wide smile, reaching up to poke him in the nose.

Grunting, Sylar spun around on his heels, making his way to the counter. Luckily there was no line. Sylar had never dealt well with lines. When he was aggravated, people usually died. He flashed back to a few days ago, when he had lost his patience with the police officer who pulled him over for speeding. That hadn't ended well . . . It did take the man behind the counter an exceptionally long time to dig up two scoops of German Chocolate, however, and that provoked him, but a cheerful glance from Elle calmed him down enough to last thirty more seconds.

With a cone in each hand, Sylar made his merry way back to the table where Elle was waiting for him, tapping her foot impatiently. When he handed her the cone with the smaller scoop, she whined about it, but she got over herself quick enough and returned to her usual, hyper-active self.

"We should have gone to Braum's," Sylar suddenly said, his face void of all emotion.

Elle gave him the classic eye roll for a second time that day, licking her ice cream cone. "You have to order at the counter at Braum's, too, sweetheart."

"That's not what I was referring to."

Elle grinned, pushing a stray strand of blond hair out of her face. "It's OK, Gabriel. We all have our moments." She was in such a cheerful mood. How could she be so care-free? They were criminals on the run, after all. Sylar just didn't understand her . . . "Cheerful" wasn't a word he used to describe himself; it was foreign to him.

It was only when Sylar practically threw his ice cream cone at her that Elle became angry with him. OK, so he hadn't "thrown" it at her, but he _had_ "dropped" it on her chest and hid under the table without saying a word of apology. And that could be considered irritating. Groaning and grabbing a napkin, her cone in her hand, Elle ducked under the table after him.

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded loudly, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the ice cream off of her shirt with one and hand and eat her own cone with the other. "You dumped your ice cream all over me!" Elle added when Sylar didn't immediately respond.

"Shhh!" Sylar whispered harshly, pressing a hand over her ice cream-covered mouth mid-bite. "Bennet's here." With his free hand, Sylar pointed at a man with horn-rimmed glasses sitting at a booth nearby, casually sipping a mug of coffee. The man, Noah Bennet, could easily be considered an enemy of Sylar's. And Elle's, for that matter. The odds of him being in the same ice cream parlor with Sylar at the same time was next to none, and it had still happened. Just their luck.

When Elle's eyes finally settled on him, they widened and she gasped, flinching and accidentally "throwing" her ice cream cone in Sylar's face.

"Oh sh-"

Sylar clapped a hand over her mouth again, stopping her. "Hush!" If Bennet saw them, it would only lead to another wild chase. Sylar may be practically immortal, what with his new regenerating power and all, but Elle most certainly wasn't. Wiping the German Chocolate from his face with the palm of his hand, Sylar said in a low voice, "We have to get out of here."

"Whut? You shcared uff Bhennet?"

Scowling, Sylar removed his hand from Elle's mouth. "What?"

"I said-"

"No time! He saw me!" Sylar cried, jumping up and knocking over the table and chairs in his haste. Grabbing Elle by the wrist, he practically dragged her across the ice cream parlor. Every set of eyes in the room were on Sylar, Elle, and Bennet as the chase ensued. The fancy little _ding_ went off once more, and then the three were out of sight.


End file.
